


vicious, ceaseless, righteous

by wednesdays



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but no sexual consent issues), (i don't really know how to tag this), Alternate Universe, Angst, Consent Issues, Dark!Derek, Death, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Smoking, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesdays/pseuds/wednesdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never let Death fall in love with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vicious, ceaseless, righteous

**Author's Note:**

> **the consent issues in this story are not sexually related, but do relate to the relationship. please let me know if i need anything else tagged.**
> 
>    
> i'm not actually sure what this is but i've had this idea in my head for weeks and this resulted while i was feeling lame and listening to music box versions of songs
> 
> i may continue this, so consider this a sort of prequel of sorts
> 
> (i keep writing new material and not writing the stuff i keep meaning to continue ugh sorry friends)

Stiles slips out of the bed after wiping himself down with the sheets, stumbling over to the balcony. He snags his pack of cigarettes off the nightstand on his way, tapping one out against his palm. He hears Derek moving around on the bed.  
  
"Tell me a story," Derek says, leaning his jaw against his palm. Stiles turns to him slightly, eyes grazing quickly over his bare body.  
  
"What kind of story?" he asks, lighting up his cigarette and blowing out the first puff. Derek shrugs awkwardly, his elbow sliding where it rests on the mussed blankets.  
  
"Any story," Derek replies. "Your favorite story." Stiles hums, leaning against the railing of the balcony.  
  
"Once upon a time," Stiles begins, pausing to take a pull from his cigarette. "Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a far away place, there was a boy. There was a boy, and his mother was dead." The lights of the city dim the natural light of the moon and the stars.  
  
"Was the boy beautiful?" Derek asks, sitting up, the sheets pooling around his waist. Stiles shrugs.  
  
"Some believed so," he says. "He stood out among the rest of the village, at the very least. Where all the men had tan, muscled skin from laboring, the boy had pale skin, and a skinny body. He was ten and seven years and able, but particularly frail in the eyes of the town." Stiles continues.  
  
"The day came that the men of the boy's town were to bury his mother," Stiles sucks in another lungful of smoke, blowing it out over the city. "They prepared her body accordingly and took her out to the burial fields. The grass was high, the sun was hot, and the grave was deep."  
  
"Did the boy cry?" Derek questions. Stiles feels the corner of his lip curl up, only slightly.  
  
"The boy wouldn't cry. It was not honorable for a man to cry," he tells. "He stood straight and tall as the men placed his mother in the grave-- as they placed dirt over her body. He was honorable and would not cry.  
  
"As the crowd left, the boy continued to stand and watch his mother's grave. He whispered promises and prayers to her, wishing her a safe journey to the afterlife.  
  
"'Do not worry, young one,' a voice spoke to him. He turned and gazed upon a man, dressed in working clothes and wearing a crown of black gold. 'She will have a safe passage.' Despite the man's normal appearance, the boy knew the man to be the one known as Death, the reaper of men." Derek stands and Stiles looks away, back to the ebony blanket of sky.  
  
"Was the boy afraid?" Derek asks softly, coming up to stand behind Stiles. Stiles shakes his head minutely.  
  
"No, the boy wasn't afraid. The boy became angry, demanding to know why Death had taken his mother at such a young age. Death was astonished. No one had ever challenged him before.  
  
"'You ask questions you know the answer of,' Death replied. He watched the boy, saw his head held high and his shoulders straight and tall. 'All know that I take what is mine at exactly the right moment.'  
  
"'Perhaps you didn't have the right time this time,' the boy said harshly. With that, he bid his mother goodbye, leaving Death speechless and on his own. Death was enraptured; couldn't believe a mere human would have the courage to try and best him like that, especially with only his words.  
  
"Death began to follow the human boy around, increasingly more and more infatuated with the boy and his actions and his sweet laughter," Stiles grows quieter as he continues. "Death fell in love with the boy." Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.  
  
"Soon after, the boy fell victim to the fatal illness that overran his village. Death was devastated-- he couldn't imagine the thought of the boy leaving him forever for the afterlife. So he went to the boy and bestowed upon him the gift of immortality." Stiles stubs out his cigarette on the railing, blowing out the last of the smoke.  
  
"Happily ever after?" Derek asks. Stiles laughs, his tone cold.  
  
"No," he says firmly. "The boy, though appreciative at first, regretted accepting the gift once he lived longer than his friends and family, having to watch them grow old and die as while he stayed only seventeen years old.  
  
"The boy sought out Death and pleaded with him to let him die, but Death refused. He loved the boy too much to let him go." Stiles swallows the lump in his throat. "The boy lived for thousands of years, adapting to the cultures and learning the languages, his heart heavy with regret and pain.  
  
"Every few years, the boy would find Death, and beg him to let him die. Death refused every time, disappearing before the boy could do anything else. The boy was angry, and hurt, and bitter, and no longer wanted to live. He did his time in this world, but was refused entrance to the next. No matter how many bridges he threw himself off of, or how many times he shot himself in the head, he couldn't die." Stiles grips the railings, knuckles white.  
  
"The boy begged and begged with Death to let him go, because he didn't want to live on this Earth any more. He didn't want to learn to adapt to another era and learn their culture or fight in another war or find a new family, only for them to die while he continued to live. He doesn't want to try any more," Stiles turns around in Derek's arms, eyes filled with tears. "I can't do this any more, Derek."  
  
Derek's face is suddenly hard; angry. His eyes flash multiple colors before settling on a pure, dark black.  
  
"Stiles--"  
  
"Please let me go," Stiles pleads, gripping Derek's shoulders tightly. "You've kept me here long enough, I can't--" Derek leans in and kisses Stiles, a hand gently pressed to his cheek. Stiles whimpers, tears slipping down his cold face. Derek pulls back, resting his forehead against Stiles'. He wipes the tears away, and Stiles almost lets himself feel hopeful.  
  
"I won't ever let you go," Derek whispers, both a threat and a promise, before he disappears into thin air. Stiles collapses on the balcony, a rage-filled scream tearing out of his throat. The scream dissolves into soft sobs, his hands clutched into fists in front of him as he cries for the first time in years.  
  
"Moral of the story," he mutters once the world's gone quiet. "Never let Death fall in love with you."

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://scottmccalliente.tumblr.com/)  
>   
> 
> i'd love feedback!


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